


Roving the Strands of Fate

by Saeldur



Series: Empire Lost [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Canon-Typical Violence, Class Differences, Magical Realism, Pain, Slavery, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeldur/pseuds/Saeldur
Summary: The Conclave has destructed - a little more literally than even the worst nay-sayers could have imagined. Those that survived are left to pick up the pieces.
Series: Empire Lost [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855285
Kudos: 4





	1. If It's Peace You Find In Dying...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A character is in an excruciating amount of pain in this chapter, as caused by magical means and not another character.

Chapter 1 

Commander Cullen Rutherford stood alone in the middle of a patch of scorched and melted earth, a body at his feet with his own cloak laid over it. He was currently pacing, pulling at one of his shoulder muscles, where he could wedge his hand beneath the collar of his armor. Three of his men were keeping a wary and respectable distance. They came to attention as the Seeker and her retinue got closer.

Cassandra Pentaghast stopped just at the head of the body on the ground, Leliana at her left shoulder, an apostate with a penchant for obscure magical knowledge at her right. The Dwarf she could not seem to get rid of trailed behind her, and four more soldiers followed him.

“I was under the impression that you were fighting the demon responsible for the explosion.”

“Ah.” Cullen looked skyward as his face started to heat.

“I was under the impression that you had _slain_ the demon. What could then be so urgent.”

Commander Rutherford gave a pained sound and utterly failed to come up with an adequate explanation. He also wished, dearly, to be anywhere else. What he managed in response was, “He’s not dead.”

“I hate to tell you, but that is also not a demon, Cullen.” Leliana stated the obvious as they all circled around the body on the ground. “That is an elf.” She spared a glance for Cassandra’s apostate as he squatted down, and fished a hand from beneath the cover of Cullen’s cloak. It sparked green, and the rift above them sparked as well. “Ah - I see.”

“Do you?” The Apostate asked, not actually seeming interested in the answer. He was turning the unconscious elf’s hand this way and that, supposedly studying the magic at play. He cast something that caused the mark on the elf’s hand to sputter and spark again.

The rift cast off sparks above them, and at their feet the unconscious elf groaned in pain and shifted beneath the heavy fall of Cullen’s cloak.

Varric Tethras knelt in the charred dirt on the elf’s other side and peeled back the furry shoulders of the makeshift blanket.

“Don’t-!”

All of them stood or knelt or squatted in stunned silence at the creature laid bare before them. All adorned in white silks and gold jewelry, the elf was a vision of lithe limbs and barely-covered flesh.

“Well, shit.” Varric quickly covered him back up.

Cassandra turned her judgemental stare to Cullen, the Apostate sat stunned and blinking, and Leliana - Leliana laughed.

Four heads whipped in her direction. She supposed she only had herself to blame. The sound of her laugh was likely as foreign to them as it felt to her. But it couldn’t be helped.

“This is- _was_ -the Magister’s pleasure slave.” Leliana looked up at Cullen, “You’re not the only one to think he was a desire demon. There was a nobleman’s son who said the same.”

“I- that’s- _in my defense-!”_

“He is a very pretty elf.” Leliana felt a little pang at the thought that Mage who had told her just the same thing would likely be dead now, like so many others. “I know.”

“That would explain the brands,” The Apostate allowed, rising, having put the other elf’s hand over his chest. “It would be a very rare thing for a Magister to have another Mage as a slave. Indentured, yes. But a slave? Unlikely.”

“But he is-” Cassandra felt obligated to confirm, “-a Mage?”

“No, Seeker. The only magic on him is in that mark on his hand - something I cannot tell you more about without further study.”

“So then where does that leave us?” Cassandra could not hide the exasperation in her voice. She needed direction. Needed _someone_ to blame. They all did. But this elf - this _slave_ \- surely was not responsible. Solas did not think him a Mage, and yet there was magic on his hand. Did not think that any one mage was capable of bringing down what had been brought down on their heads. And yet.

“The Magister did this.” The Seeker spoke with conviction. “Whatever happened here surely was her doing.” She took a sharp breath in, “I _told_ Lady Montilyet that this was-”

“We cannot know that for certain.” Leliana spoke to soothe. To cut off an incoming rant before it got started. It wouldn’t help them solve the problem. “We can speculate, of course, but it would be better if we heard from the slave himself what happened. What he knows of the situation. Perhaps - given the mark on his hand - what he may have been _forced_ to participate in.”

“The Magister’s slave will need to be moved from here.” Solas contributed, “Someplace he can be administered to, for though he is alive, he is severely weakened. And the mark on his hand requires more study.”

“I’m sorry-” Varric broke in, “-does the kid have a name? Or are we gonna keep referring to him as ‘the slave’ like a bunch of assholes?”

“Josie may know,” Leliana squatted down and brushed a lock of hair away from the elf’s face, “She spoke to the Magistratrix several times, and likely as not wrote down the names of those in her party. So long as that ledger was with her down in the Chantry, she should know it.”

“Good.”

“Alright.” Cullen would really, _really_ rather be anywhere else right now. But they weren’t going to get their answers if the poor elf died of exposure. And he didn’t really want to charge any of his men with moving him either. With reluctance, he snatched his cloak and spread it out on the ground, “Will one of you help me wrap him up - and I’ll carry him back down to Haven.”

Cassandra bent down and scooped the elf up under the arms before anyone else could volunteer, and between the two of them, they had him bundled up and in the Commander's arms in no time.

“Now, I-”

The elf went stiff in his arms and cried out in pain, hand crackling with magic and glowing even through the thick cloak.

The rent in the sky mirrored the magic on his hand, and a yell went up of, “Demons! From the breach!”

“Go,” Cassandra ordered, “I will stay here until you can return.” With the Commander’s nod, the Seeker moved past, jogging towards the shouting.

“C’mon, Curly,” Varric reached up to put his hand on the man’s back, “The sooner we get him tucked in somewhere, the sooner you can get back.”

* * *

Cullen was grateful that Leliana had followed them back. He really had no idea where he was going to put the elf, now that he had a moment to think about it. They marched in an odd little processional up the middle of Haven and towards the Chantry. He slowed as they got to the junction that would lead down to the undercroft and the prison cells. Leliana waved him on, and he reluctantly agreed maybe the damp and cold wasn’t a great place for the injured elf to recover. Still. Might’n he have been involved somehow?

“You,” He called as he passed by a soldier who had better be off duty, with the way he was chatting up the elven woman next to him.

“Sir!” He snapped to attention, “I was just-” He looked back only to see his companion had all but vanished down the side aisle of the Chantry. “Uh...yes sir?”

Cullen stopped and leveled an unimpressed look, “I need two guards on this door - round someone up once you’re off _break.”_

“Y-yes sir!” He saluted again, “Just done, actually, I’ll...go get someone and be right back. Sir.”

“It’s so hard to get good help these days,” Varric commented as Cullen watched the young man’s retreating form.

Cullen was tempted to agree. But it wouldn’t do to actually say that outloud. With a sigh, he turned back to the way he’d been walking, in time to see Leliana peeking her head out of a side door. He followed her in and placed the elf on the bed she directed. This was the room in which she, the Seeker and Lady Montilyet were meant to be sleeping.

“Are you sure…?”

“To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not sure how much any of us is going to be sleeping in the next day or so. Josie will probably nap in her office; I hardly ever sleep in here anyway; Cassandra could kill a man in her sleep.”

_“Ain’t that the truth?”_ Varric muttered, finding his way back out of the room.

“Granted, but-”

“I will need to stay and watch him, Commander.” Solas spoke up, padding deeper into the room, “I will need to study the mark, and find out exactly what significance it holds - what it has to do with the tear in the sky.”

“Yes - sooner, rather than later would be appreciated, Solas.” Leliana nodded approvingly.

“We will have your guards. And I am not without my defenses.” Solas brought his staff more fully in front of him, and gripped it in both hands, leaning into it.

“Right.” It wasn’t exactly that Cullen _forgot_ he was a mage. That was the main reason the Seeker even kept him around. It’s just he didn’t really have the bearing of most mages Cullen had ever met, and it kept...slipping his mind. “But now where’s-?”

“Miss me?” Varric grinned and came back in the room carrying a bucket of water, followed by two elven women carrying cloths and salves. They got the elf out of Cullen’s cloak, and didn’t seem to flinch or hesitate at what was - or wasn’t - lying beneath it. They handed the fuzzy thing off to the dwarf, who in turn held it out for the Commander to take.

“Go on, Curly - we got it from here.”

“Yes. Well.” Cullen steadfastly did _not_ look at the elf who the two women were just _stripping_ in the middle of the room as he put his cloak back around his shoulders. He fastened it in place and with a little click of his heels and nod of his head to Leliana, marched right back out the door.

Leliana huffed a laugh as she listened to Cullen barking orders to his recruits. She looked to Solas over the elven womens’ heads, “Send word for Seeker Pentaghast if his condition changes, or if you determine what exactly that magic on his hand does. We’d both like to be on hand if he wakes.”

“We will,” Varric assures the Nightingale, before Solas can even speak on it. Leliana nods and closes the door behind her when she leaves. He turns back around and puts the clothes he’d gotten for the kid on the foot of the bed. “Don’t know how well these will fit - he’s skinny, but tall for an elf.”

Solas raised an eyebrow at Varric.

“Just because I’m _short_ doesn’t mean I don’t know when people are _tall.”_ To avoid his judgey gaze, Varric looked down, and then reached out before he could stop himself and plucked a piece of glass from the bottom of the elf’s foot. “What the hell…?”

Solas came to inspect the damage as the two women fussed and washed his chest and arms and brushed out his hair. There were shards of glass in the bottom of his feet. Thick and curved - from a bottle - and Solas said as much.

“I’ll have to dig this all out before I heal him. Good thing you caught that.”

“Mmm.” Varric held the glass up to the light. It was colored, “Could be a wine bottle. Or some kind of liquor.”

“That won’t stop it getting infected. Hand me that bowl.”

* * *

It was some hours later - when the sun would have been rising, had they windows to see out of - that they were finally done. The elf was washed and dressed and had his hair braided (and cooed over). Solas had dug every little shard of glass out of the bottoms of his feet, washed, salved, and wrapped them. His patient had been inspected for more injuries, but from what Solas could find, apart from his hand, there wasn’t anything more serious than a scrape or a bruise here or there.

Varric had dozed while all this had been going on, woken fully by the door clicking shut again. He stretched, luxuriating on what he kind of hoped was the Seeker’s bed, and then rolled up. He’d been in his clothes, on top of the covers, and it wasn’t the most restful thing. But it had honestly felt more like passing out than anything.

“All done?”

“They are. Yes,” Solas answered absently, more focused on writing in a little journal than paying attention to Varric.

Their mystery elf was under a sheet and thin blanket now, folded down over his chest, tucked under both of his arms. His ridiculous hair was braided and laid beside his head like some great, twining snake. The tunic they’d wrestled him into looked a fair sight warmer than what he’d been wearing, the side where the magic mark was had the sleeve rolled up to the elbow.

Varric reached out and picked up the little carved wooden bird on a string around the elf’s neck. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly.” Solas didn’t look up, “It’s decent craftsmanship.”

Varric snorted, “No, I mean - wooden necklace?”

“Why is that odd?”

“All that gold jewelry, and you don’t find a wooden necklace odd?”

Solas did, finally, look up from his writing now. He leaned down to get a better look at the little bird, and cocked his head curiously. “A gift then. Given by a different person than the gold jewelry.” He returned to his writing, “Or something he made himself. One of the women said it was bound up in his hair.”

“A _secret_ gift.” Varric mused, thoughtful. Thinking longingly of his own notebooks squirreled away in his pack back in his tent. He brushed his thumb over the carving one more time before letting it go. It _was_ decently done. And a bit of a mystery to boot. Secret gifts for a slave. Some sort of illicit affair? A secret child? Oh, the possibilities were endless.

“I will not fall asleep.”

“What’s that?”

“If you want to go and get your things, dwarf, I will not fall asleep in the meantime.” Solas _sounded_ annoyed, but his expression was as bland as ever, “You plot for your writing very loudly.”

Varric snorted a laugh, “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.” He paused at the door, “You need anything? Breakfast, maybe?”

Solas looked up and blinked owlishly.

“You know - breakfast? Food you eat in the morning?”

“Yes, I-” Solas cut himself off with a huff and moderated his tone, “Yes. Thank-you. That is very...thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t hurt yourself being so nice, Chuckles.” Varric smiled and slipped out the door before the elf could think better about _not_ throwing magic at his head.

* * *

There was screaming.

Varric was standing outside the door, looking at two guards looking at him, and there was screaming, and none of them were moving.

“Open the door!” Varric all but yelled, his hands full, and very nearly willing to drop everything to do it himself. Luckily, one of the little soldier boys snapped to and pushed the door in.

Varric sightlessly flung everything in his arms on the bed near the door and rushed to Solas’ side. 

The elf was arched up off the mattress, screaming fit to tear down the ceiling. The hair on Varric’s arms stood on end. The crackling of the elf’s hand was loud, the green bright as the stars, and even Varric could feel the snap of magic in the air.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Solas was quick to answer, “It is the mark’s magic, not mine!” He didn’t look half as panicked as Varric felt, but he did at least look concerned.

The elf just kept screaming - like his soul was getting ripped out of his body through his nose. His hand was shooting sparks and dripping blood onto the floorboards. When he started to thrash, Solas leapt forward.

“Help me hold him!”

It took the two of them practically throwing themselves on top of Solas’ patient to stop him flopping like a landed fish. He was much stronger than he looked, and Varric thanked whoever thought to put the elf _under_ the blankets, as it probably saved him the full force of a knee to the chin. By the time he stopped, the three of them were all panting heavily. There was still the occasional twitch to the elf’s limbs. Like aftershocks. His eyes fluttered, but remained closed.

The two guards that were supposed to be _guarding_ against looky-loos were leaning in through the open door now, all eyes and no help.

Varric closed the distance in three steps and slammed the door in their faces. “Assholes.”

Varric turned around slowly, eyes drawn immediately to the blood dripping onto the floor. “I thought- ...I thought that was a _magical_ mark. Not a real one.”

Solas gave a humorless huff, “Being magical does not make it less _real,_ dwarf.”

“I _meant_ I didn’t think it was an actual cut on his actual hand. I thought it was on his-” Varric flops a hand around uselessly, “I don’t know. Whatever happens to you people when you dream.”

Solas raised an eyebrow.

“You people meaning non-dwarfs, don’t look at me like that, Chuckles.” Varric busied himself getting all the sheets straightened out again around the elf. “Your...dream-version of you. I’ve had people tell me they can often watch themselves in dreams. I always thought- _gah_ doesn’t matter.”

“No.” Solas, in turn, busied himself in gathering the healing supplies again for the unconscious elf’s hand, “I understand what you mean, Varric. But no. It is not a mark on his...soul, or his dream-self. It is on _him._ Or rather - I should say it is on both. It is magical as well as physical.” The Apostate dipped a cloth in water and started gently cleaning the palm of the other elf’s hand. “What has been described to you - watching yourself in a dream - is hard for even an experienced dreamer to find words for.”

Varric didn’t quite know what to do with the look on Solas’ face. It was an odd half-smile, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Amusement was clearly a foreign emotion. Varric had to wonder how many _pleasant_ experiences the man had with people, being an Apostate on the lam, so to speak. Probably not many.

Varric nodded, accepting the explanation. When he’d gotten the kid’s coverings and hair and even the little carved bird necklace to rights, Solas had finished dressing his hand. Without words, they’d both silently agreed to take a break from their ward. Varric picked up a stray apple that had fallen from the bundle he’d tossed on the bed and shined it on his shirt. He bit into it, and gathered the rest of the food up, spreading it out on the table.

They ate in silence, only looking up when a very gentle knock on the door heralded a new visitor. They didn’t wait for a response before entering, and when Varric saw who it was, it made sense.

“Ah! There you are.” The Ambassador bustled into the room, holding a ledger in her arms, as always, glasses perched in her half-frazzled hair. Her shirt had all but lost it's starch and she was blinking more than she ought.

“I looked through all my notes, trying to find where I had perhaps written his name.” Josephine shook her head, “But I could not. So instead-”

Before Varric could voice his full objection, the door opened wider and a Qunari ducked through. She was covered in soot, a black streak up her olive-green skin from chin to the base of her, honestly, impressive horns, and dirt caked heavy beneath her nails. She only had eyes for the bed the elf was on, though, and she drifted forward as if drawn, one hand coming to grip the footboard.

“Varric. Solas. This is Hissera Adaar - the...well, she’s now the _leader_ of the mercenary company Valo-Kas. Hissera, these are-”

“It’s him.” She turned, and Varric could see now the clean streaks down her cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes. “That’s Calix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "And When I Die" by Blood, Sweat & Tears.


	2. ...Let the Time Be Near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A character is in a great deal of pain due to magical effects, not due to the actions of another character.

Chapter 2 

“It’s him.” The Qunari turned, and Varric could see now the cleaner streaks cutting through the ash on her cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes. “That’s Calix.”

“You knew him?”

Hissera scoffed, “No.” She shook her head and looked back at the elf on the bed, “I only talked to him once. Kaariss was the one who, well... _fuck it._ We were going to smuggle him and the big boy out. So I talked to Calix about the best time to make a run for it. It was supposed to be early this morning.”

“Big boy?”

“The Magistratrix’s other slave,” Josephine explained, “He was, we believe, a captured Avaar who worked as her personal bodyguard. And he was very...tall. And...muscular.” She shuffled the ledger against her hip and gestured with a roll of her hand, “This is, however, the first I’m hearing of a...rescue attempt, for lack of better description.”

“Boss wanted to make sure you all had deniability. Hell, the _boss_ wanted deniability. She wasn’t in on it, and told us she didn’t approve...you know, officially. If everything had gone right, you’d have never known it was us, anyway.” Hissera tapped the palm of her hand against the rounded post of the bed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“That’s-”

“He fell out of the Fade.”

Hissera whipped her head around and stared at the elf. “You’re shitting me.” Though, to be honest, the second the words were out of her mouth she wanted them back. This elf didn’t actually look like he joked. Ever.

“No.”

“So _he’s_ the one the soldiers have been talking about.” Hissera turned again to watch Calix sleep.

“The soldiers are talking, then. What do they say?” Josie clutched her ledger to her chest.

“That he’s a spirit.” Hissera took a step forward, letting her hand fall from the footboard. “Or a demon. I’d heard things about the Maker and Andraste, too, but I didn’t really pay attention. Didn’t seem important.” She stopped, brow wrinkling as she realized his hand was starting to glow green. “Is he a mage? His hand is-”

“Get back!” Varric hopped up from his seat just as the mark on Calix’s hand sputtered to life, crackling with magic.

The elf arched off the bed in pain once again, hands scrabbling at the bedding around him.

“Hold him down!” Solas barked, getting there first and grabbing for the marked wrist.

Hissera grabbed the sheets and yanked them up the elf’s chest, then put a knee to the mattress and bore down, pinning him under the blankets. With a little more effort than she’d have thought, she managed to wrangle his other arm and kept most of him writhing beneath her body weight, until he started to tire.

“Damn, woman.” As the fight and magic drained out of their patient, Varric couldn’t help but be impressed. “He almost got the better of me _and_ Solas.”

“Yeah, well.” Hissera smiled as she eased back, “You don’t look like you could reach the far side of the bed-”

“Hey!”

“-and your buddy probably weighs as much as one of my _thighs.”_ She stood up and let the dwarf get at Calix, fussing over his clothes and the bedsheets as he trembled and twitched.

Stepping back, Hissera looked from the Lady Montilyet to the two men, “If you want - I can send one of my guys up here to help you. I’ve got one that’d be thrilled to do it, I bet. Extra set of eyes for watch, too, if either of you needs sleep.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to pull anyone away from their duties.” Lady Montilyet demured even as Solas and Varric welcomed the help.

“I’ll send him down,” Hissera shrugged as she made her way to the door, “None of us are doing much good out there anyway, except to fight the occasional demon when the sky cracks open.” She paused, her hand on the handle, “Besides, my guy’s probably got ten times the gossip I’ve got about this situation - might help you to know what’s being said out there. And if you wanna get ahead of it - or direct it the way you like - he’s your guy.”

“Very well then,” Josie nodded, “Please do send him.”

Hissera nodded at everyone, and gave the elf on the bed one last look before leaving.

“Oh dear,” Josie bustled over and watched as Solas cleaned the former slave’s hand, “That looks bad. I’ll send some more supplies up, yes?”

“That would be good.” Solas wrung out the cloth he was using to clean the wound, “It reopens every time, and I’ll need to soak some wrappings in elfroot tincture.”

“I’ll see it done,” Josie pulled a piece of paper out from somewhere and jotted something down, “Anything else either of you need?”

“Yeah, I got something.”

“Yes, Varric?”

“I need you to take a nap, Ruffles - it’s been a long night.”

Josephine chuckled, and smiled for what felt like the first time in days, “I will try to find time, Master Tethras, just for you.”

* * *

Varric briefly, very briefly, had a moment to feel bad for Solas. Stuck in a room with two chatterboxes and only the comatose elf for backup. But then Varric was well aware that Solas has spoken to him more in the last five or six hours than in the days he’d known he man. Basically - he was shit for company. So. He could deal. Besides, this Kaariss kid was a delight.

“So wait - _literally_ Andraste?”

“Yes!” The Qunari confirmed, “They think he was _literally_ pushed out of the Fade by the _literal_ prophet Andraste! I mean, c’mon. Who else is it gonna be? This _is_ the place her ashes are stored-or-well- _were_ stored, I guess.”

“Yeah, but...she’s...dead. The Fade wouldn’t change that,” Slowly, Varric turned to where Solas was half-asleep in his chair, leaning against a dresser. “Right? The Fade can’t do that?”

“What is it?” Came the mumbled response, though Solas kept his eyes shut.

“Andraste. Being dead.” Kaariss reiterated for Varric, “The Fade doesn’t change that, right? She’s not...alive? In the Fade? She couldn’t have pushed Calix out of the Fade.”

“No.” Solas confirmed, “That is not how it works. The _memory_ of her may be alive and well in the Fade, but she herself is gone.”

“What’d’you mean her _memory_ is alive and well?”

Tired, downturned eyes blinked open a little unevenly, and the apostate focused on the Qunari, “The Fade retains memories. History. As seen and felt and believed by a thousand different minds and two thousand different eyes. There will be a record of your Andraste in the fade, but she will likely not be as either of you would think of her. She will be a combination of what others think of her, and what she thought of herself.”

“So - what-” Kaariss sat up a little straighter, “When I die there’s going to be a...fade version of me?”

Solas closes his eyes again and settles back, a small smile curling his lips, “Doubtful. One has to make an impact to leave an impression in the Fade.”

“Oh… _...hey!”_

Varric laughed, “Yeah, you are never getting rid of that nickname, Chuckles.”

“Chuckles?” Kaariss grinned, “I like it.” He turned to Varric, “Do I get one?”

“Stick around long enough, and you just might.”

“But,” Solas added, belatedly.

“Oh _no.”_

“What is it?” Kaariss looked from one man to the other.

“He’s about to say some crazy magic shit that’s going to contradict everything he already said,” Varric explained, “It’s what he does.”

“Not _completely_ contradict,” Solas corrected, “I still do not believe either Andraste - or the memory of her - could have pushed...Calix out of the Fade. But a spirit might have.”

“A spirit?” Kaariss leaned an elbow on his thigh, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t encourage him.” Varric grumbled even as the Qunari shushed him. He was a curious sort - asking all sorts of questions when he got there of Solas and Varric and apparently had even talked Lady Montilyet’s ear off. Varric couldn’t help it if he didn’t share his enthusiasm for magic and all it's associated weird bullshit.

“Ah,” Solas straightened, “If...you are not familiar - there are spirits in the Fade. Alongside demons.” When Kaariss nodded enthusiastically, the elf continued, “Sometimes spirits latch onto a memory. Or feelings. They may even believe themselves to _be_ the person those memories belonged to or were about.” He shrugged, “Truth be told, they may actually be the spirit of that person. It is difficult to say.”

“You’re kidding.” Kaariss leaned down - forearms completely on his thighs now, riveted. “That’s...my mother always said that our spirits never die. That there’s a place where they go - where they all meet up. And sometimes they come back.” Kaariss looks to Varric, “Have you ever met someone for the first time and you feel like you’ve known them forever?”

“Well...yeah, I suppose. Once or twice.”

Kaariss nods, “That’s it. That’s the idea - that your spirit and the spirit of whoever you just met have met before - either in that other place, or here, on Thedas.”

“Hmm.” Solas turned contemplative and inquisitive by turns, “An interesting idea. I have heard something similar in my travels. However, I had not heard that Qunari-”

An intake of breath from the elf on the bed and all three sprung into action.

“They’re growing more frequent, aren’t they?” Kaariss gritted out, throwing himself over the elf’s legs to reach his far arm. _They ought to just lash him to the damn bed._

“Seems like it.” Varric had taken up his new position at the elf’s head - once they’d moved the bed away from the wall. He was in charge of making sure the kid didn’t swallow his tongue. However he was going to do that. He thanked the Maker and Andraste - spirit or no - for not letting it get that bad.

Solas had taken to trying to absorb or pull the magic from the mark - with mixed success.

Once Calix had flopped back down to the mattress, the three of them eased back, smoothing covers as Varric brushed the hair out of his face. This time, however, the elf groaned, eyelids fluttering.

“Is he waking up?”

“Possibly,” Solas allowed, tipping the other elf’s face towards himself, “It has only been a day, though. I would not have thought he would be recovered enough to wake for another two days at least. If he were to awake at all.” He leaned down, looking for something, before sitting up sharply, “Call for the Seeker - I think he will wake on the next wave, if not before. He seems to be only deeply asleep now.”

Kaariss nodded and flung himself through the door, dashing down the hallway.

“Think he’ll be able to tell us what happened?”

Solas sat down heavily and began the task of washing the other elf’s wounded hand again. He sighed, “Two days ago I would not have thought any of this possible. I still am not quite sure how it happened. As for what he remembers - I could not begin to speculate. But for his sake, I hope he does remember.”

Varric snorted, “Can’t stand to be without answers?”

“It is not _my_ curiosity he should fear to leave unsated.”

* * *

Kaariss had managed to track down the Seeker, and the former Left Hand of the Divine - Left Hand of the former Divine? Whatever. The Nightingale had found them. They were making their way down the hallway when the screaming started. Kaariss broke into a run, not bothering to see if either of the women had kept up.

The room guards were standing, gawking and useless, in the hallway. By the time he ducked between them, the screaming had already stopped.

Calix had his own unmarked hand clapped over his mouth, muffling the sound, and though he writhed beneath the sheets, he wasn’t convulsing.

He was awake.

Cassandra put a hand to the Qunari’s shoulder and moved him further into the room. A look over her shoulder and Leliana shut the door behind them, blocking the view of the interested soldiers.

As the magic stopped, there was a flurry of sheets and limbs and the elf flopped onto the ground. His hand was still in Solas’ lap, but he was on his knees, forehead to the floor, saying _something_ in a foreign tongue over and over.

Solas dropped his hand as though burned and all but vaulted back, his chair clattering to the floor as he stumbled over it and slammed back into the dresser.

Varric noticed the look of disgust on his face before that careful veneer of calm slid back into place. Noted it for later.

When Kaariss went to move forward, he got a mailed glove on his shoulder, “What?”

“This is no longer your concern,” Came the clipped accent of Seeker Pentaghast.

“What are you talking about?” Kaariss snipped back, “Of course this concerns me - I’m his friend!”

“His _friend!”_ Cassandra’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, “You’ve known him _a_ day.”

“And?” Kaariss gestured to the shivering tangled bundle of sheets and elf, “You honestly think he did it? And you’re going to convince him to talk with what, Seeker? Sword to his throat?” His gaze flicked to the redhead who had lowered her hood, “Nightingale’s knives to his back? Let me talk to him. I’m a friendly face. He _knows_ me.”

Cassandra looked to Leliana, who nodded just as she thought she would. She didn’t like it. Cassandra snarled and shoved him towards the elf, “Fine. But get him talking.”

_“I can’t understand a word he’s saying - you speak whatever that is?”_ Varric murmured as the Qunari got on the ground next to the elf.

“He speaks Common. He’s probably just freaked out and confused.” Kaariss reached out and gently put his hand on the elf’s back. He flinched under the touch, but the Qunari just rubbed little soothing circles. “Hey-hey. You’re alright. You’re alright, Calix - can you sit up?”

Varric had the sudden, rather uncharitable thought that the elf looked a bit like an injured dog, holding his marked hand crooked up but not touching his chest.

Calix sat up slowly, carefully, the sheets sliding free to the ground. When at last he raised his chin, and opened his eyes, there was an immediate look of fear on his features.

The elf looked around, wildly, noting each face in the room. After he had, he held his non-marked hand up, as though reaching for the Qunari’s face, _“Kaariss?”_

“Yes.” Kaariss nodded, “Yes, it’s me.” He took the elf’s hand in his and pulled til he had it cupped against his cheek, trying to smile reassuringly, “You’re okay. You’re safe now. But Calix? I need you to tell me what happened.” He let his other hand slide to the elf’s shoulder and tried to tug the former slave closer.

The elf’s brow furrowed and he shifted until he was facing the Qunari properly. He shook his head, “I do not understand.”

His accent was somewhat thick - rolling and easy on the ears. Varric thought it might’ve had a little Antivan in it. The only ‘Vint he knew didn’t really sound like this. Then again, there was a lot about Fenris that was unique. And until he saw _this_ elf, he would've said Fenris' coloring was unique too. But come to think of it, they were pretty similiar - white hair against umber skin.

_“Kaariss,_ where is my...employer? I cannot be here. I-” 

The elf had stopped, eyes darting all over the Qunari’s face, the sag of his shoulders, his posture. He took it all in, in a moment, and Varric found himself more than a little impressed.

“Something has happened.” Calix whispered, breathless, “Something bad.”

“Yes,” Kaariss confirmed.

“And you think-” Calix looked to the other elf in the room, and it was an odd, tense sort of moment - each regarding the other through shuttered expressions. Calix was the first to look down and away, “You think my Mistress did something,” He looked to the two women in the room then, “And they think I did it.”

“What makes you say that?” Leliana asked.

“Begging your forgiveness, Mademoiselle,” Calix lowered his gaze to the floor again. “But this one knows what hatred feels like. And suspicion.” He clenched his hand, but after a grunt of pain seemed to think better of it. His unmarked hand was now held securely between both of Kaariss’ larger ones.

“Do you have a _reason_ we should hate you, elf?” Cassandra was already tired of this. He needed to be in a cell - not in _her_ room.

Calix shook his head, _“Nein, gnädige Frau._ In this one’s experience, there does not need to be a reason. But often, this one has inspired these feelings - of hatred. Of suspicion. Suspicious minds will always do as they will.” He shook his head almost as if to stop himself talking, then looked up at the Seeker, pleadingly, “I have done nothing wrong. I swear it.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows were up to her hairline. Nevermind the pleading of innocence. The way he had addressed both Leliana and herself had her momentarily speechless. And he was...eloquent. Damn her for thinking it, but she was sure a slave wouldn’t be.

“What happened last night, Calix,” Kaariss prompted. “Let’s start at the beginning of this. What happened after dinner?”

“Dinner?” Calix looked down, bewildered, “I…” He stalled out, and touched the little wooden necklace against his chest with his fingertips.

Varric watched emotions flick across the elf’s expressive little face in rapid succession - too quickly to note anything but the gutted look it landed on.

Calix shook his head faster and faster, “No...NO!” He barked a flat denial and took rapid breaths in - too rapid.

“Hey. _Hey.”_ Kaariss dropped from his squat to his knees, legs bracketing in the elf’s, and he put a hand to the back of his neck and reeled him in to his shoulder. “Breathe, Calix. Breathe.”

“He knows!” Cassandra cried, “There you see! He knows! I knew it. I _knew_ he had-”

“That’s not an admission of anything, Cassandra. We need more-”

“-the kid alone, he’s hyperventilating over there! You’re gonna-”

Between Kaariss and Leliana, they eventually managed to shout the Seeker down. Varric was hopping between trying to calm her down and trying to rile her up, and the Qunari was fit to slap him if he didn’t stop. Calix was still shaking in his arms, but slowly it became less noticeable. When he pulled back, Kaariss noticed he and the other elf were staring at each other again. It was damn odd. And Kaariss thought, if anyone, this Solas character was the most suspicious. He knew an awful lot for someone who didn't know what was going on.

“There was a change of plans.” Calix said, leaning his forehead to Kaariss' shoulder, his voice hollowed out and wispy, “A change of...schedule. My Mistress was meant to meet with the Divine another night, but her meeting was moved forward - I don’t know why.”

To Varric’s surprise, it was the Seeker who answered.

“Her previously arranged meeting cancelled.”

Kaariss snorted, _“Cancelled.”_ When Calix leaned back to look at him askance, he explained, “One of the people she was supposed to meet panicked and threw up all over himself and his buddy.”

“Oh.” Calix gave a sympathetic look, but the tone was flat, “Poor thing.”

“So her meeting was moved up?” Kaariss prompted.

“Yes, I-” Calix looked around the room again. He leaned in and whispered, but it was still loud in the small room, “I am sorry, but I must know for certain, _Kaariss,_ she is dead? Truly?”

Kaariss nodded.

“Along with the rest of the Conclave,” Seeker Pentaghast snarled, quickly brushing off Leliana’s hand.

Calix huffed a breath and closed his eyes a moment, seeming to center himself before he continued, “I prepared my Mistress to see the Divine, but was told none of us could accompany her. My Mistress instructed me to ready…” The elf huffed again and opened his eyes, “To ready myself and her rooms for entertaining, as she had planned to have guests after her meeting.”

“Okay. So how did you do that? Get the room ready, I mean,” Kaariss prompted again, hoping to gloss over whatever debauchery the Magister had planned.

“I was dressed to entertain. Ravnir had both of our packs, and my cold weather clothes. I had prepared the set-sai-yahto...I forget the word. A potion to make sleep.”

“Sedative,” Leliana volunteered. “You were going to drug the Magistratrix and her guests.”

“Yes,” Calix nodded, “But just to sleep. I could not risk anything more potent, for I did not know who she had invited back to the room.”

“Hmm.” Leliana gave the elf an appraising look, “Go on. You’d dosed the wine and were waiting for the Magistratrix to come back with guests. Your fellow slave had your belongings ready for the two of you to run, once everyone was asleep?”

“Yes,” Calix confirmed, “The next is a bit hazy, but...I remember pouring the wine into a decanter when I heard the screaming.”

“Screaming?” Varric hadn’t managed to hear any reports about what happened prior to the explosion. This was the first he was hearing that there was any warning.

“Yes. A woman...screaming. I thought-” Calix’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head, “It startled me so bad I dropped the wine.”

“That explains the glass shards we found in your feet,” Varric said.

Calix whipped his head in the dwarf’s direction, “I- I don’t remember stepping in it. I only remember running. I heard the screaming, I dropped the wine, and then I ran.”

_“Towards_ the screaming?” Kaariss asks.

“Yes, of course,” Calix nods and looks Kaariss in the eye, “It was a woman screaming in pain. I am sure of it. I had to go and see if someone needed help. I remember that I ran into the hallway, and those big doors at the end of the hall were shut...but there were no guards, so I pushed one open myself.” He scrunched up his face, trying to recall, “And the rest is whiteness. I remember whiteness and pain.” He shook his head, “I do not remember much else.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Cassandra was reaching her limit of belief with this elf. Either he had something to do with it, or the Magister did, and she wanted answers. She wanted them now. “Any of it? That screaming would have been a good distraction for you to get away. Why should you go to investigate? Furthermore, what did you think you could do? You _will_ tell me what the Magister’s involvement was.”

The former slave turned, and leveled a look right at the Seeker. It was so intense, she almost stepped back. Almost. But Cassandra Pentaghast was not one to back down first. In his eyes she saw the fire of defiance. And it burned hot.

_“You_ may be able to stand by if someone is in pain, but _I_ cannot. And I will not have my freedom bought with the price of another’s life. Not even that of my Mistress.” Calix didn’t look away. He held eyes with the Seeker to the last, “I have not lied to you, but it is up to you whether or not you choose to believe my truth. This one would not presume to think he had the power to sway the opinion of one such as you.”

“Such as I?” Cassandra stepped forward, “And what am I?”

Varric winced, shared a brief sympathetic look with Solas. This kid didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“A Pentaghast.”

_Or,_ Varric thought, _maybe he did._ He noted the smirking look on Leliana’s face a moment before she got it under control. The shock on Cassandra’s face would probably sustain him the rest of the year.

“A Dragon Slayer. A Seeker. But more than all of these things - a warrior. With a will more unbending than the steel you carry.” Into her stunned silence, he continued, “It was my job, while she lived, to make sure my Mistress never met a stranger. I know that about you which is public knowledge - Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast - and what I know tells me there is nothing I could say to change your mind. You are a woman of action, and so my actions must prove my truth.”

Without looking, he slipped his hand from the Qunari’s grip and stood, slowly, with more grace than the position should have allowed, “But this one is used to words. So tell me, Seeker Pentaghast - what shall I do to prove my truth? What action would you have me take? Only tell me, and it will be done.”

Cassandra was shaken. Leliana could tell that the slave - former slave - had shook the Seeker worse than anything she’d seen. And call her crazy - but she believed him. His limbs were trembling a little, but he was staring the Seeker down, back ramrod straight. Whatever the Vint had done to the elf, it hadn’t broken him. Probably never would have. And he’d put up with a lot, if those whip marks on his back the other elves had told Leliana about were anything to go by.

“Alright,” Leliana said, “Let’s accept your truth for now - until proven otherwise. But that doesn’t mean you’re free to go. We still have questions unanswered about the explosion. About the Conclave. And honestly, about the rift in the sky. And you may be our best bet at figuring all of this out.”

Solas spoke for the first time since this whole encounter began, stepping away from the dresser and standing upright, “I have some theories about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "And When I Die" by Blood, Sweat & Tears.


End file.
